Osmosis
by Spice of Life
Summary: Mike has a lot of problems, but Matt isn't going to give up on him. M/M, mentions of alcoholism, abuse, some swearing etc


**My fanfic writing skills have completely disappeared after years of writing Journalism stories. But this is my attempt to get them back.**

**And reviews are the only thing that keeps me going; so if you're even remotely interested in reading this, let me know! Also, why cannot I not use the tab button?  
**

…

Matt groaned, dropping his head into his hands. How was it that he always ended up in these predicaments? He was currently hauled up with his very-drunken best friend in someone's surprisingly clean upstairs bathroom. Mike had somehow ended up in the bathtub, and instead of trying to get him out, Matt had just given up and climbed in as well. The steady pulse of music drifted from downstairs, where a mixture of kids from McKinley High and the local community college were currently partying their asses off.

Matt's older cousin Jerome always invited Mike and him to the parties that his friends threw, and usually the football team from McKinley showed up just to be assholes and party crash. No one ever kicked them out though, so they always came back.

Someone was knocking on the door of the bathroom urgently, screaming about having to pee. Matt rolled his eyes, and threw one of the empty bottles lying beside Mike at the door. Luckily it was a very large bottle of Orange Vodka, and thus didn't shatter when it connected with the door. The person on the other side apparently got the message and scampered off to find another bathroom.

"This…" Mike started, gesturing around the bathroom, "is…" A confused look came over his face, as if he couldn't remember what he was about to say. After a few moments of concentration, he gave up and tipped a half-empty bottle of tequila to his lips.

Matt sighed again, stretching his legs out in the tub on top of Mike's lanky limbs. This bathtub was definitely not made to hold two drunken teenagers. He felt his phone begin to vibrate against his leg, so he maneuvered his hand into his pocket, which proved to be difficult because of his current location.

Mike suddenly looked up, grabbing the edge of the bathtub, "Is that an earthquake?"

"That would be my phone, Mike." The shorter boy said, glancing at the text that popped up on his screen.

_hey where r u 3 Santana_

_sitting in a bathtub w/ mike in someones house. _He wrote, realizing how ridiculously gay that sentence sounded.

"What…uh, who are you messaging?" Mike slurred, pointing his bottle at Matt and sloshing some of the tequila on him.

Matt wiped the alcohol off his phone cover, gently taking the almost-empty bottle from his friend and placing it on the floor. "Santana's wondering where we are."

Mike thought about it. "Where _are_ we?" He asked with a stupid grin on his face, stretching his long arms out and knocking a bottle of shampoo onto his head.

"Good question." He was assuming, based on the cleanliness of the bathtub that they were laying in, that they were at Al Sneedy's house, who played basketball with his cousin and was extremely obsessive compulsive. Like, Ms. Pillsbury-level OCD. Al Sneedy always had massive amounts of alcohol because his dad was a distributor at a local liquor store, and therefore his house was usually considered party central. Plus, he sold weed.

Matt's buzz, which had lasted him most of the party, was now vanishing and the "Responsible Matt" (as Mike put it) was starting to kick in. He checked his cell for the time. _4:14 a.m. _"Jesus, Mike, do you know what time it is?"

Mike grinned and went a bit cross eyed, "Time to drink tequila?" He began cackling manically and grabbed the bottle back and proceeded to chug, which in turn made Matt crack a smile. Mike was usually so reserved and shy; sometimes he wished he could be talkative like this when he was sober. Suddenly Mike grabbed his face dramatically, "why is there a walrus on the wall?" He asked, pointing upwards. Mike followed Mike's finger up, where a walrus was indeed drawn on the ceiling.

"That's a good question." Matt conceded.

"You know, Matt…you know what?" Mike slurred, gesturing wildly with his arms, "You know when everything's okay…"

Matt waited for his friend to finish his thought, but Mike was just staring intently at him, waiting for a response.

"Um, yeah?" Mike prompted him on.

"Yeah, so everything's okay…with us, right? We're okay like hay?"

Mike's head was beginning to lull around as he spoke, the bottle of tequila coming dangerously close to spilling all over him. Matt had no idea what Mike was getting at, so he just nodded his head. "Yeah, man, we're okay."

Suddenly, Mike leapt forward in a half-assed attempt to stand up. He proceeded to fall on top of Matt, giggling insanely as his tequila spilled on the tiled floor. Matt tried to gently shove his skinny friend off of him, but he wasn't budging. The laughter had faded, and now Mike was staring at him intently, straddling his legs.

'_Responsible Matt, Responsible Matt…'_ the shorter boy repeated over and over. "What are you doing, Mike?"

His friend grinned again, and began to move forward. Matt sighed, accepting the inevitable horny-drunk Mike, and leaned in and waited. After a few seconds of dead air, he cracked an eye open to find Mike slowly falling backwards and cracking his head against the base of the tub.

"Shit, dude!" Matt yelled, grabbing his friend's head before he could hit it off something again, "if you get a concussion again, I'm going to be so pissed." Mike just laughed again, sticking his tongue out. "You won't be laughing if I take you to the hospital and they make you go to AA meetings."

"ABCD can't do nothing for me!" Mike sang loudly, pumping his fists into the air and pretending to dance.

Matt's cell phone was vibrating in his pocket again, and he grabbed it with the hand that wasn't currently holding his best friend up.

_want me 2 com get u? 3 Santana_

_can u? we r sneedys. mikes wasted. _

He sent the text, dodging a falling bar of soap that Mike's squirming movements had caused. "Mike, you really need to just lay down, okay? Santana's going to come get us so we can go home."

He glanced at his cell and noticed his message wasn't sending. "Fuck. Okay, just stay _right here_, Mike. I'm going to go out in the hall to see if I get a better signal." Mike nodded sleepily as Matt got out of the bathtub. "I mean it, dude. Don't move."

Closing the bathroom door behind him, Matt held his phone up to try and get reception. He stepped over someone passed out on the floor, and moved to the end of the hall where two completely stoned teens were talking about cabbage and watching as their friend pretended to give a blowjob to a door handle.

He dialed Santana's number, and waited as her stupid ringback tone ("Toxic" or something, he thought) played.

"Hello? Matt?" She finally answered.

"Hey, sorry, my cell wasn't getting a signal. Can you get us? We're at Sneedy's, that weird pot dealer's place."

Santana paused, "The one with the weird mustache?"

"Yeah, that one. I need to go though, I left Mike in the bathroom." Matt watched as the stoners started doing the robot and tripping over each other.

"I'll text you when I'm almost there. Wait outside, okay?" Santana said, hanging up.

Matt hung up the phone, thanking the stars that his best girl friend had a car and was willing to pick him up at a party 20 minutes away from her house. He dodged past the stoners again, stepping carefully over the passed-out person on the floor near the bathroom. He gazed warily at the open bathroom door, and peeked inside. No Mike.

'_Shit_,' He whispered, closing the door and stepping back out into the hall. "Mike!" He yelled as he started down the stairs, the music growing louder. Half naked, sweaty bodies were dancing and grinding all over the living room, forming a thick mass in the small living room.

"Mike!" He tried again, budging through a group of college kids doing a keg stand. A girl with her boobs busting out of her shirt grabbed his arm and tried to stick her tongue down his throat before he pushed her off.

She looked at him in surprise, "What the fuck?" She asked, but he was already making his way towards the kitchen where he could see a group of people cheering about something. He pushed a couple of smaller people out of the way to find Mike sitting on the floor against the counter, obviously completely passed out, with a bottle of jack rolling beside him. A girl was sitting on his lap, taking his shirt off and her hand down his pants. She was laughing, and being egged on by the crowd behind her.

Matt lurched forward, pushing her off of him. The girl whirled around in surprise, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" She yelled, wobbling slightly.

Matt's phone was buzzing in his pocket, probably meaning that Santana was almost at the house. He bent down to grab a hold of Mike's armpits to lift him up, wishing his friend wasn't so tall. He may be built like a beanpole, but he was almost 6 feet tall, and Matt was barely scratching 5'7". He tried to lean him up against the counter top when he heard Mike start mumbling.

"What?" He asked, leaning closer to hear his friend. His breath smelled like pure hard liquor and Matt tried not to gag. Mike's mumbling was barely discernible, but he thought he heard something about a walrus.

Suddenly someone put their hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to find a very pissed-off Santana.

"I said _wait outside._ I did not want to come into this slut-fest, and yet here I am."

Matt gestured towards Mike, who was propped on the counter top, his head dropping into his chest. Santana rolled her eyes, putting one of his arms over her shoulder and waiting for Matt to take his other arm.

It took them a good five minutes to actually get outside and get Mike into the backseat of Santana's buick. The ride home was quiet, but Matt could tell Santana wanted to say something.

"What?" He finally sighed in resignation.

Santana didn't say anything for a few seconds, just fiddled with the ac controls. "I don't know. How long are you going to let him do this for?"

"I don't _let_ him do anything. I try to stop him, but he can do whatever he wants." Matt said shortly, trying to end the conversation.

"Okay," Santana said, pointedly not looking at him, "But what are you going to do about it? Just sit back and watch him drink himself into a coma?"

Mike mumbled something indiscernible from the backseat, and Matt just sighed again. "It's not that easy to fix, okay?"

…


End file.
